Soaring Through Moonlight
by MiceLoveRice
Summary: One step. One step and she will be completely vulnerable, alienated from her shelter of shade that provides her with anonymity and closure from the rest of the bustling society, to the paralleled realm of light that offers nothing but exposure. It will all begin with one step.
1. Chapter 1

**A chapter that I've written to deal with my obsession of the first Assassin's Creed game. It's a bit long and I'm not entirely sure if I will continue with it (I find Middle Eastern history to be extremely confusing and complicated) but please, enjoy.**

One step. One step and she will be completely vulnerable, alienated from her shelter of shade that provides her with anonymity and closure from the rest of the bustling society, to the paralleled realm of light that offers nothing but exposure. Yet, she cannot continue to put this off any longer. She has not eaten in three days, aside from a few scraps she had managed to scavenge, and as she observes the market stand in front of her, she has already calculated that the loaf of bread should last her for at least a week and a half. By that time, the city will have forgotten all about her petty crime and her face will once again belong to the shadows. It will all begin with one step.

She emerges into the seething afternoon sunlight, draping her cloak around her face though it lacks the familiarity of the shade. Already she is sweating and she can feel her clothes beginning to cling against her skin. She gazes up at the stand from underneath her hood. The crowd of people gathering around it has steadily grown larger; obviously the larger, the better, as it will most likely divert the merchant's attention from herself. She checks her surroundings towards her left, then her right. There are two guards a fairly good distance away to her left, talking amongst themselves, but as long as she acts stealthily, she should be able to outrun them, should they happen to notice her. She knows she cannot linger, or else the merchant will become suspicious of her presence; she must put her plan into action now.

Head bowed, she continues to engulf herself further into the crowd of people, inching her way to the right side of the stand, where the bread is located on a back shelf. Again, she subtly checks her surroundings. It appears as though no one has caught onto her motive. She is feeling confident, and with her new-found sense of confidence, she grows bolder, realizing that she is so close to obtaining her goal that she may actually get away with it.

With the merchant preoccupied with attending to his customers' needs at the front of the market stand, she turns her back to the crowd and slowly extends out her left arm towards the loaf of bread. At last, her fingertips sense the tempting texture of its soft, crusty exterior. It has been freshly baked, perhaps only a few hours ago; just her luck. Her fingers grow anxious at the thought and hungrily grasp themselves around the loaf until finally, her arm retracts itself back and she is able to stare at her prize face to face. A week and a half's worth of food rests in her grimy hands.

"Are you going to pay for that?" a male, disgruntled voice sternly asks as a hand slaps itself onto her shoulder and forces her to turn around. It is the merchant who holds her within his clutches, his expression gravely serious as he stares down at her, pursed lips concealed behind his moustache. She doesn't know how to answer, not that she could answer if she wanted to, for her voice has left her from the sudden shock of her lack of judgement. She had assumed things would go according to plan, but as she looks at the man, her mind wallows in a pit of helplessness.

And when no response is given, the merchant smiles cruelly and says, "I didn't think so."

He grabs hold of her arm and drags her to the front of his stand. At this point, most of the crowd has dispatched after witnessing her arrest and knowing fully well what is to come next, but a new crowd begins to gather as the merchant calls for the guards. Their faces exhibit the same looks of concern, pity and fright, and she loses herself in their sea of repetitive expressions. The two guards whom she had seen conversing now start to make their way over to her and the merchant. She notices that their hands are already resting at their swords, alert, and her mind races.

Again, the merchant forcefully pulls her forward, making her yell out in pain. "I caught this one stealing from my stand," he informs the two men, and again, she is caught in the act, for the bread is still in her hand. There can be no way for her to talk herself out of her predicament now.

"You should know what the penalty is for stealing," one of the guards sneers.

He motions for the other guard to approach her. In a last escape attempt, she desperately tries to break free of the merchant, biting at his arm, and as he yells, she bolts in the opposite direction. Her body quickly reminds her of the consequences of having not eaten for three days however, because she is already running out of breathe and has hardly any stamina to carry herself any longer. She screams as the guard tackles her to the ground, thrashes and kicks, throws dirt at his face in an attempt to blind him, but he remains ruthless and restrains her as he pulls her to her feet.

"Bring her here!" the first guard bellows from the merchant's stand.

Though her efforts were valiant, she had only managed to escape by a mere few meters. This reality makes her feel pathetic and being hauled back to her starting point at the market stand brings her shame. If she had all of her energy, she could have made it... Perhaps she should try to humanize herself in the presence of the guards.

"Please, you must understand," she begins, voice trembling, "I have nothing, no way to pay for it." Both guards remain untouched by her words as the one guard who continues to restrain her pulls back her cloak, exposing her left arm and places it on the stand. She becomes more fearful, her pleading more sincere. "No, please! I promise I will never do it again!" She gawks at the crowd. She knows she cannot expect help from anyone; if someone tried to interfere, they would most likely suffer the same fate as her. Yet, she continues to demonstrate negative body language as she whips her head to and fro, hoping to get a message across to them.

Again, she cries out in agony: "I beg of you! Please spare me!"

The other guard draws out his sword from his belt, blade gleaming against the sunlight, and he positions it directly above her wrist. She anticipates that it will be painful. She expects she will lose a lot of blood and may possibly die as a result from it. How could she have been so careless, to forget that the penalty for stealing costs the thief their hand? Now she is prepared for her punishment mentally, but emotionally and physically, her body betrays her as her eyes spill tears and she continues to tremble.

A few gasps erupt from the crowd as suddenly, a white figure dashes across the rooftop of a nearby house, which is strange behaviour to witness, and lands behind the guard who continues to wield his weapon above her wrist. It's a man, she's sure of it, but his cloaked hood has concealed most of his face. Immediately, he grabs the guard by the neck, slicing his throat with a hidden blade under his sleeve, the blood drenching his white cloak. The other guard has now registered the fact that he is in danger, pushes her aside, and draws his sword. She swears she catches the sight of a smirk on the man's face as he climbs along the side of a building, reaches into his pocket, kicks off of the wall, and flings a knife at his target. The guards yells, for the knife has penetrated through his simple clothing and struck his chest. He desperately attempts to pull the knife out of his shaking body, but the blood is seeping through his uniform, the colour draining from his face, and the air, escaping his lungs. She watches on numbly as the guard's life fleets before his eyes, while the other guard continues to choke on his own blood.

All at once, people begin to scream horrifically, dashing in all directions, like a herd of cornered animals, while the merchant, with his only defence having been brutally slain, obviously makes a run for it.

Her saviour, who has landed in a kneeling position, slowly brings himself back to his feet, staring at her all the while. His face is now a bit more visible, and from where he is standing, she notices his golden eyes—heavenly to look at, but ones that contain deadly intentions. Now that he is still, she also observes his outfit: both of his lower arms are armoured, a large belt covers the entire middle of his waist, and a sword dangles at his side. The man is obviously heavily equipped, ready for war. She has seen men like him before, and as the people around her that were brave enough to continue to stand in their place mutter the word, she realizes it must be true: he is an assassin.

Shouting can be heard a few blocks away. The yells and constant screams of distant people must have informed other guards that something treacherous has occurred. The man in white knows this is true as well because he becomes much more alert, body tense as he looks back over his shoulder in search of the oncoming guards. When they start to emerge, he quickly approaches her and huskily whispers, "follow me."

With that, the two of them break into a sprint. It is a difficult task to accomplish—remaining unseen through the hectic streets—as people refuse to move and must be pushed out of the way, beggars try to block one's path in an effort to achieve spare change, and women balancing jugs full of water on their heads can't get out of the way in time. Not only that, but the running has sapped her of her last bit of energy and she nearly collapses in the middle of the street.

The man in white takes note of her struggle. He swiftly leads her over to a wagon filled with hay, with the simple instruction of: "stay hidden here and don't move. I will return for you once it is safe." And just like that, the man continues to lead on the chase, climbing back onto the rooftops of houses, heading in the direction of a nearby mosque.

She obeys her orders, hustling herself into the wagon, her entire vision revealing nothing but mounds of yellow hay. From outside on the streets, she can hear the galloping of the guards and their threatening words of "you can never outrun us! I'll have your head!" She tries to stay awake, forces herself to stay awake, but her body fails her once more as her eyelids grow heavy and the muffled sounds from outside turn to silence.


	2. Chapter 2

She awakes, slowly and hazily, to find her vision overcome by the colour of yellow. Her body is tense, especially her neck, from having slept in such a hunched posture, and she places a hand over it delicately. As she regains sight, she becomes puzzled at the appearance of hay. Why is she lying in a cart full of hay?

Luckily, the memories are still fresh in her mind, and she is able to recall the events quite effortlessly. There had been guards—two of them, she remembers. Throughout all of the commotion, she was able to pick out small details about them, such as the colour of their hair, their height and their weight. They had both been wearing the uniform of the Jerusalem soldiers, but how could she have gotten herself into a situation that involved such authority? Her stomach growls to make its presence known, as if forcing her to remember the reason why. That's right. In an effort to satisfy her hunger, she had tried to steal from a nearby market stand. She can still feel the merchant's disdainful eyes on her, the permanent scowl on his face from having caught her in the act. She shudders at the reminder of him. She was to lose her hand for committing such a crime but something else had occurred that prevented it from happening...

The image of scarlet splashed against white floods her mind, the image of golden eyes piercing into hers, a gaze so powerful that she is left breathless: the assassin. She watches him, standing in his white robe, with his hidden blade hanging from his left hand. Blood gathers at the tip of it and slowly cascades to the cobblestone pavement below, where one of the guards lays face down on the ground, while the other gurgles on his own blood that seeps from his neck.

She gasps and pulls herself back to reality. Her breathing has quickened and she does her best to calm herself down. Surely it could have been a dream that she was reliving, and that was the reason details were coming back to her so easily, but she begins to doubt it. The assassin was the one who had led her to this place. He had left her with instructions, but what those instructions were, she can't remember.

At this point, there is one thing that she is certain of, and that is that it is becoming too warm to continue lying under this blanket of hay. Besides, as she strains to listen, there doesn't seem to be anymore commotion coming from outside. Perhaps it is safe for her to come out of hiding now.

She decides to take a chance and shuffles out of the cart feet first. Cautiously, she pulls herself out, checking her surroundings before finally taking a step forward, feeling relief in the cool, evening sunset. She inhales deeply to discover that there is no longer the overpowering scents of spices and perfumes, but instead the salty tang of the sea that laps against the city walls behind her. The markets have finished up for the day, people are heading into their homes. She notices that someone, most likely a guard, has already gone to the trouble of lighting the torches that line the streets, providing a soft glow throughout the city. The hustle and bustle of the day has resided. Instead, there is a unique quietness that has taken over. How long had she been asleep for?

Just then, she is left frozen to the spot, for she senses that she is not alone; someone has been watching her. She can see them out of the corner of her eye. They're standing off to her right, and just like her, the person remains completely motionless. Her body tenses. Could it be a guard who recognizes her from the events that took place earlier that afternoon? How long have they been watching her? She tries to be reasonable. If it was a guard, she would have been dead by now, or tortured for information on the assassin's whereabouts.

The assassin...

She starts to carefully turn to her right. Like she had anticipated, she is greeted by the familiar sight of a man in a light-coloured cloak—white, to be more precise—with his face hidden beneath his hood. At the presence of an acquaintance, she feels a bit comforted, but not by too much, for she also knows the burden that comes with knowing him. This man is trouble. The city will not rest until he is captured for his treacherous deeds, she knows this much.

The two of them stare at one another, her for curiosity's sake, his most likely for observational purposes. It takes a moment before either of them are ready to break the silence.

"Do you remember the instructions I left you with?" he asks. His voice suits him well, a voice that glides so smoothly, just like that of an assassin's, and she shames herself for not having taken notice of it earlier. "I told you not to come out until I had given you the order to do so," he continues. She doesn't respond. He sighs. "You would do well to do as you are told."

Again, the tranquil silence overcomes them. She continues to stare at him just as keenly as he does, as though she needs to prove a point. Just from his title of "assassin", she can make hundreds of assumptions about him. Deadly, emotionless, solemn, pernicious, cryptic... He, on the other hand, knows nothing of her, aside from the fact that she is poor, and so she willingly accepts his challenge at a staring contest.

He begins to softly rummage inside his cloak for something, then reveals it to her. It's the loaf of bread she had tried to steal. He extends it towards her and says, "I believe this is yours."

Instinctively, her mouth opens and she gazes at it, then at him. When she realizes that he is serious, she walks over and politely accepts it from his hands. As she takes a bite, she is overcome with gratitude, for it is exactly the way she had been anticipating it to be: crunchy exterior, fluffy on the inside, and very filling.

"Thank you," she breathes once she has finished.

He nods in response, and before she knows it, his hand has taken hold of her arm, and she is left with a confused expression on her face, an uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach. Before she can ask, he answers for her. "You need to leave."

"L-Leave?" she stutters. "Why"

He has already begun leading her in the direction of the city gates, quickening his pace. "By tomorrow morning, all of the city will know of your story, and they will know of your face as well." He turns to face her without stopping and she notices that his expression has remained the same since they encountered one another this evening. "Do you have family in Jerusalem?" She is conflicted, so he explains. "If they cannot find you, they will settle for your family." 'They' must be a reference to the guards.

"No," she mumbles, "there is no one here."

"Do they live in another city?" the assassin continues.

She ponders the question for a moment, travelling into the darkest recesses of her mind, feeling pitiful and ashamed. Finally, she whispers, "no".

Only now does he stop to truly look at her, probably taking notice of how she has gotten quite unusually silent, and sad. Perhaps he thinks it a delicate question to ask because this time, he lingers a moment before asking, "you are an orphan?". This time, she doesn't answer, which is enough of a response for him.

When no more words are spoken, the assassin resumes his role as leader once more. "Staying here is not an option any longer," he softly tells her, and those are the last words spoken between them.

As they start to draw closer to the city walls, they realize the population of guards has steadily increased. The assassin knows the two of them can't continue walking out in the open, and so he motions towards the rooftops in an effort to get her to follow him. Swiftly and silently, he scales the side of the sandstone building and reaches out to her once he lands on top. She does her best to mimic his nimble movements, and although she is not nearly as graceful as the assassin, she manages to grab hold of his hand, and he pulls her up.

She gazes out over the city from where she stands and develops a sense of appreciation for the architecture of Jerusalem. The houses are neatly packed together, with wooden planks connecting one building to the next, so that jumping from one roof to another is so simple that it's like an assassin's playground. Together they leap from roof to roof until the large stone walls overlooking the city are right in front of them. The assassin checks the vicinity. There are five guards with their backs turned towards them standing at the entrance while two other guards patrol around nearby streets.

The assassin gestures for her to follow him again. He jumps from the rooftop, putting all of his weight into his knees so that when he lands in a squatting position, his eight foot descend is noiseless. He gazes up at her, waiting for her to do the same. Thankfully, she doesn't weigh nearly as much as her companion, and as she messily lands on the pavement, it is but a soft thud.

He rushes on ahead, to the very far left of the city walls and makes his ascend to the top in a matter of seconds. She gawks at him. He can't honestly expect her to be capable of climbing that far up, can he? She begins to shake as she comes to the realization that she has so openly exposed herself. It's only a matter of time before someone notices her.

She stares up at him, his white cloak incredibly vivid underneath the moonlight, with a pleading look in her eyes. She gets the message across, for he points to a minaret that is just a few feet behind her. It's about the same height as the city walls; the only difference is that this structure is older, and the stones that it is built from have shifted slightly to create stepping stones. The minaret seems to be much more convenient than the city walls.

Feeling a bit confident, she scuttles behind the minaret so the guards can no longer see her, and begins her climb. At times, she loses her footing and slips, but after a few minutes, she establishes a rhythm, scaling up the wall at a steady pace. Eventually, she reaches a wooden perch, a perch that stretches out in the direction of the city walls. From where she crouches, she is only a mere feet away from the assassin. He has both arms reaching out for her, and she suddenly understands that he means to catch her. But in order to do that, she must jump.

Again, he is expecting her to do the impossible. Like a fool, she glances down at the ground, estimating that it must be at least a thirty foot drop, and she whimpers. Once more she turns to her companion, who refuses to let his eyes leave hers. She stands. Closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. When she opens them again, she takes a running start and leaps from the perch, flying towards the wall where the assassin continues to stay with arms outspread. He catches her by her hands. She is relieved for a split second, then gasps for air as she feels the wind knocked out of her as her whole body slams against the stone wall. Desperately, she tries not to cry out in pain, and the assassin pulls her up to safety.

Without a moment to spare, he quickly descends on the opposite side of the wall. When he reaches the bottom, he stands with arms stretched out once more, indicating that she is to fall and he will catch her. She clutches her side in pain from the impact of hitting the wall. At least there is grass on this side.

She repeatedly tells herself that this will be the last one. After this, she is guaranteed safety. So, obediently, she tosses herself over the side of the building, grateful to feel the soft cushions of his arms and not a hard surface like last time. As she lays there for a moment, she notices that he is exceptionally warm. For a moment, she is comfortable.

But then he places her on her own two feet, and without a single look back, the two of them begin their journey away from Jerusalem. She does not know where he plans on taking her. In all honesty, she does not know if she can truly trust this man. All that she does know is that there is nothing left for her in the city that she calls 'home'.


End file.
